


But Yet an Union in Partition

by hellscabanaboy



Category: Gargoyles (TV)
Genre: Identity, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellscabanaboy/pseuds/hellscabanaboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working for David is a great deal more entertaining than Halcyon Renard had ever been. If it hadn’t been such a novelty learning to play Owen to the hilt, I don’t think I would ever have lasted long enough to meet him. Which would have been extremely regrettable, all things considered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Yet an Union in Partition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lies_d](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lies_d/gifts).



Working for David is a great deal more entertaining than Halcyon Renard had ever been. Of course, that doesn’t take very much. If it hadn’t been such a novelty learning to play Owen to the hilt, I don’t think I would ever have lasted long enough to meet David. Which would have been extremely regrettable, all things considered, and there are a _lot_ of things to consider. 

The first project he puts me on - I’m sorry, puts Owen on - involves some kind of cybernetics research, which at this point hardly even holds my interest. If he was hoping I’d brought over any information from Cyberbiotics, he would have been sorely disappointed - Owen Burnett had never worked on the scientific end of things, nor had he ever displayed the slightest curiosity in their direction. The forefront of mortal technology no more enticing than any featureless widget, when he does the work purely for the sake of doing it. He’d brought that same attitude over to Xanatos Enterprises, of course, that part didn’t change. Wasn’t meant to, any more than I ever did.

What changed is _what_ work he’s doing, purely for its own sake as always.

“Isn’t this fun, Owen?” David calls, wind whipping his face as he clings to the side of a building.

Owen glance down at the ground below, teeming with people blending into a blur of color. If you’d dropped the proverbial penny from this height it would have been quite a stir, although rather a crude one for my tastes, and anyway, entirely beside the point of what Owen’s here for. “Of course, Mr. Xanatos.”

He laughs as though I’d told some particularly clever joke, or rather perhaps as though he were forty stories in the air on tools of his own devising. “What’s wrong? You’d think you never climbed a building before.”

“I regret to tell you, Mr. Xanatos, that I have not.”

“Well, you live, you learn.” He takes hold of a windowsill, anchors himself with one hand and gestures Owen up. “You can’t say your job doesn’t give you the chance to stretch your abilities. Get this for me, will you.”

Owen pries open the window wide enough for David to slip inside, flattens himself against the wall and waits. It would have been easy to follow him with my mind, see what he’s up to, but Owen of course does no such thing. And I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.

He comes back out a few minutes later, little disk in his hand, and hands it to Owen before he starts back down the wall double-time. “Well, that’s that. I don’t think anyone saw me, but we’d better get going, just in case.”

As it happens, David tells him later, their security had in fact detected an intruder as soon as we’d arrived on scene. It was merely a side effect of the electromagnetic impulses that allowed us to climb that also confused their sensors, leaving security to cross every inch of the building on foot. And of course, the photographs taken by astonished passers-by weren’t nearly detailed enough to show our features. Though, presumably, quite enough to drum up whatever fascination mortals were likely to have with walking up walls.

“As soon as these things go to market they’ll have corrected that deficiency,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Sooner now, of course. Would have been a shame not to test them out while we had the chance, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Owen replies.

***

Of course, even a king on his throne needs a moment to focus sometimes. Something I’ve got a great deal of experience with. Not directly, of course.

David is pacing the room, muttering to himself. He does that less and less these days, learns to bounce ideas off Owen like playing tennis against a bare wall, or else merely grows into dignity as much as a mortal can. “The research department alone will pay for itself within five years. The question is what direction it’s taking us in. We'll be overcommitted—”

“The Scarab acquisition again, Mr. Xanatos?” Owen asks.

“It’s not doing any good to go over it again,” David sighs. “Tomorrow I’ll make sure there’s nothing left we’re missing, then I can make a decision. I just need to get some rest first.”

Owen crosses to him, all business as though he were carrying out an order. “Allow me to be of assistance, sir.”

“You’re doing everything I can think of,” David starts, which really shows how much he needs the rest. Usually Owen doesn’t even have to speak to get something across to him, although granted, he’s never been trying to get this particular thing across. “And doing it well. I only—”

Owen goes to his knees on the floor before David’s feet, raises his hand slowly to unbutton his pants.

It takes David a minute to react. Even he can be surprised, it would seem, which is rather the joy of this sort of thing, I’ve found across the centuries. No one’s truly holding all the strings, when someone else has got a hand on his cock. At least, that’s where _I_ find the fun in it. I expect, since I’m Owen, I’d think of it differently.

“Carry on,” David says after a moment, as though he’s interrupted him filing papers. Just a glance up and I can tell he’s not really that blase, not when his eyes are focused right on Owen like they could go straight through him and see what’s inside, as though he doesn’t already know. He plays his part, though, just as I do, wouldn’t even think of doing anything else, and _Owen_ wouldn’t think of anything except the task at hand, the soft slide of David’s zipper over his already hardening cock, revealed in neat efficient movements.

Personally, I don’t think it’s that impressive. So few of them are, really, it’s much more remarkable to meet a distinguished man who’s really up to par with his outer self. But Owen doesn’t care - now that I think of it, I’m not sure it would even occur to Owen that he might place a value judgment on it in between calculating the exact depth he ought to take it in and speed to move his head. And he doesn’t need more than a second or two for that, it occurs to me, so straightaway he bends down and presses his lips to the head, what might have been a kiss from another man, before he leans forward and takes him inside.

He swallows him down quickly, no teasing here. Fun, but out of character. David’s legs don’t tremble, not quite, but I hear his sharp intake of breath as Owen takes him down again, and oh yes, I remember this feeling well, playing men’s reactions like a pipe while they’re lost in sensation. Owen’s blowjobs aren’t the most engrossing ones to give - steady angle, steady pace, aiming for the goal and not the journey, as it were, but David, _David_ is fascinating, his hands clenching in midair, his muffled breaths coming harsher but still controlled.

Owen can experiment, I think, just enough to learn what David likes. That’s what he’d do with anything else, of course. So he varies his speed, takes him a bit deeper, and when he runs his tongue along the shaft David lets out a muffled groan. When I manage to get a glance up he’s got a fist over his mouth, as though he’s got any need to keep quiet while being fellated by his own attache in his own tower, but his eyes are still straight on Owen to the point where it doesn’t even feel quite like he’s looking at _me_.

Owen certainly notices, though. Would notice, or I mean, I notice for him, and if he’d been any other man his rhythm would have definitely gone off. Repeats himself, a little deeper, and this time when David groans Owen echoes him, almost too quiet to be heard. That’s what he wants, after all, David’s pleasure for its own sake, just as though he were setting up an advantageous merger or introducing a useful new contact. Well. Maybe not _just_ like. He’s not going to go over those later, in the spare minutes before he falls asleep - does Owen even masturbate? I’ve never considered it before. I’m going to have to put some thought into that, later on. A great deal of thought.

It’s rather a new feeling. A bit more human than I’d expected, maybe, or perhaps just a bit more Owen. But I can work with it.

David comes without warning, almost too quickly, and Owen swallows it down smoothly, lets David’s cock slip gently from his mouth. He doesn’t get up right away, which is the only sign that he’s not completely unaffected by the task. His hands don’t shake as he buttons David back into his pants, cleans his glasses against his own thigh without any hesitation at the movement. His cock is halfway to hard, at least, but it’ll go down once he’s focused on a new task. I’d have liked to object, but it seems to come so easily, when I’m Owen.

David’s hand comes down to rest on the nape of Owen’s neck, strokes his hair into place, as though it had ever been out of it. Holds his head beneath its weight to rest against his hip. He hadn’t tried to hold him at all, during.

“Well, Owen,” he says. “You’re a man of many talents.”

“Thank you, sir,” Owen replies.

The next day he leaves on David’s desk a list of Scarab employees whose circumstances show they might be open to more advantageous employment. Wonders, in the back of his mind where he scarcely hears, which is the employment, and which is me.

***

When David asked him for a rundown of Cyberbiotics researchers who might be more productively employed elsewhere, Owen named Anton Sevarius because he knows the bent David’s efforts incline towards. Improving human potential, and all that business. _I_ chose Sevarius because I thought he would be fun.

Which I suppose he was, in the end. But that’s quite a ways still to come. What he was first was a profound nuisance.

“I am trying to make man more than himself,” Sevarius declaims, voice perpetually on the edge of cracking. “A creature beyond our imaginings, already living within every one of us! And I shall reveal that creature, right before your eyes. I need only the time, the resources. And the limits of man will _crumble_!”

His interviewing skills aren’t quite up to par with his scientific reputation, not by Owen’s standards, at any rate. But he doesn’t miss the glint in David’s eyes as he responds, either. “Just let Owen know what you need to get set up. And welcome aboard.”

The secretaries don’t start disappearing until nearly a month after Sevarius begins his employment, which I suppose speaks to more restraint on his part than I had imagined.

Owen observes the situation, doesn’t judge it a matter for David’s concern. Not yet, at least. If it should go on, certainly, it could become rather wasteful. The good doctor has plenty of engaging ideas, and the scientific mind to put them into practice - or so David has told him, and as far as Owen is concerned that’s the standard that matters - but his work can be a bit sloppy. Lacking, Owen judges, in the focus that makes Xanatos Enterprises a force to be reckoned with.

In the end, he never has the chance to decide - an oversight on my part, I’ll admit.

A pair of police investigators are rooting through Sevarius’ files, rounding up whatever minutiae they’ve decided to consider evidence. Owen hears the doctor’s shrieks from across the floor as they set aside vials of cultures, an opinion on which I’m for once inclined to agree with him, if without the histrionics. There’s more than enough there to incriminate beyond what could be accounted for by claiming it was Sevarius’ private frolic. Even if David were willing to dispense with the man, which I’m quite certain he isn’t. And it would be quite a shame to me if _David_ were to be implicated. 

Owen approaches the one who hangs back, introduces himself. Expresses his sincere regret that anything could have happened to prompt such an investigation, meaning, of course, that the man had better justify himself. Although at this point, there’s hardly much else to be done.

“A missing persons case, Mr. Burnett.” He shows me the warrant, grudging, then a picture of a woman I recognized in passing from around the office. Owen, of course, shakes his head. “Seems she’d been working late here for some time before she disappeared. We did a little digging, and well, there’s a lot to dig. As I’m sure you’re aware.”

My excuse, you see, is that it was my own miscalculation, and therefore my efforts to set it right are entirely appropriate, even if they’re not what would strictly be considered orthodox. I suppose it might be more correct to name it _Owen’s_ miscalculation, in which case I really ought not to be doing this. Well, I ought not to be doing it at all. If you want to get _technical_.

Owen stands between the investigators and their items, his heels clicking on the floor like a bell. “My apologies for the wasted effort, gentlemen. As you can see, this is an utterly mundane medical facility. I hope you’ll allow us to return to normal operations.”

One of them trains his eyes on me right off. “Normal operation…” says the other, slowly, and then, “…what?” and I sigh and start again.

A skilled observer might have seen Owen’s eyes seem to glow gold, his silhouette waver and almost shrink, long hair buffeted by a nonexistent breeze. Fortunately, mortal investigators aren’t known for their skill in the supernatural arts. Might have saved a good bit of trouble if they were - for someone, anyway. I hardly mind.

“There’s nothing here,” I murmur. “I regret that we can’t do more to assist you in your investigation. I’m afraid you have no leads whatsoever.”

“There’s nothing here,” the investigator repeats, and Owen’s heels touch the floor again. Behind him, Sevarius is hurrying the equipment back into place, which I certainly hope doesn’t disrupt my influence. It’d be a real pain if I had to try again. “Sorry for the trouble, Mr. Burnett,” he continues, more clearly now. “Thanks for your time.”

“It’s no trouble, Inspector,” comes David’s voice from the doorway. “Glad to help.”

Owen turns round to look at him, perhaps too quickly, and I realize that he’s looking not at Sevarius, but at me. Good eye, that one. Or maybe coincidence.

“You handled that one well, Owen,” David says, once we show the men out.

“Forgive me for not informing you to begin with, sir,” Owen replies. “Perhaps the problem could have been avoided.”

“Oh, I knew you had it under control,” David says, which I suppose I should have expected. He turns to look Owen in the eye. “I just hadn’t considered how well.”

“Thank you, sir,” says Owen, in the absence of a response.

***

“You know, Owen,” David says, almost offhandedly. “I do believe I’ve been taking you for granted.”

That’s quite a thing to hear when you’re in the middle of taking a man’s cock out of his pants, of course. And more so for Owen, who I’m not sure even quite understands what it _means_. He glances up at David, just a hint of raised eyebrow.

“I am, of course, at your service, Mr. Xanatos,” he says, perfect mixture of blankness and just the faintest touch of offense. “May I inquire what brings you to this conclusion?”

David grins, and that’s the only notice Owen has before he’s being hoisted off the floor, set down rather abruptly on the desk - the desk which is unusually bare of its assorted paperwork today, of _course_ David does nothing _actually_ offhanded - and David has to lean up a bit to meet his eyes but it still looks to me a lot like being towered over. “Nothing in particular,” he says, flash of teeth, and his hand closes over the nape of Owen’s neck. Owen’s head bends under his hand, though he’s still on alert for David’s every move. “I’ve just been thinking what a help it’s been to have you in my service. I wanted to give something back.”

He doesn’t ask, of course. They never do. But it doesn’t matter, not for Owen. He’s already setting his shoulders back, letting David tug off his tie and open his collar. He sucks in a breath at David’s lips on his throat - he’s not used to this, never expected this, it’s completely different in kind than the service he had offered before, and I’m inclined to agree with him, if perhaps not for entirely the same reasons. He’s hardly vocal, of course, even with his shirt tangled in his arms behind him and David’s fingers raking at his chest, but David seems to revel in every breath he takes, ready to exploit every stray twitch of his muscle.

Owen sits up automatically to help David get his pants off, doesn’t even have to think about it once he sees what he wants. His hands are braced on David’s shoulders as soon as he gets them untangled, tries to return the caresses, but David doesn’t so much brush them off as move _around_ them, slick his fingers with a bottle produced from the top drawer and slide them between his legs into the cleft of his ass. I can’t complain, I’ve been ready for him to touch Owen from the first time Owen sucked him off, I just hadn’t really expected it would happen. Though I’m sure I’m not as surprised as Owen - which, of course, means that I’m exactly as surprised as Owen, eyes wide and lips pressed together as David slides inside them, and even if he holds it together he can - of course - feel David’s eyes on him as well as I do, reading his every move as though he’d learned the trick straight from him.

It doesn’t take much before he’s adding more fingers, stretching him wide. Owen’s not exactly _relaxed_ , but he’s pliable, and even if he hasn’t done this before he’s got the benefit of a _bit_ of experience on my part. Maybe too much benefit, because David’s eye catches on the easy way he slides apart under his hand, breathes with his thrusts until he’s taking him deep inside without difficulty. Owen takes the liberty of resting his head on his shoulder, steadies himself against his body until David is lowering him back across the desk, none too soon in my opinion.

Even Owen lets out a little noise as David presses inside him, all the way to the hilt in one slow inexorable motion. The tactics behind his movements clear as crystal, just as I might have expected, though Owen hadn’t thought to expect anything at all, which leaves me rather thoroughly unprepared for the experience. David rocks against him in precise rhythm, til Owen’s breathing right along, right up until he doesn’t, and that’s when he lets out one of his little cries, which I will assure you sound absolutely nothing like what I would make. But David looks him in the eyes as he picks up the rhythm again and just for a second I’d swear it’s like he sees me, right down to the glitter in his eyes.

He’s reaching between Owen’s legs, too, palming the head of his cock with one slick hand, but it’s not _enough_ , just little brushes in time with the strokes of his hips. Owen’s breath comes in tiny hitches, growing more noticeable now - though David, I’m sure, has not missed a single one - a flaw in my portrayal, I think, except that his mortal body can’t seem to do otherwise, so perhaps just an opportunity to deepen the character. It’s not like he has _no_ desires, after all, it wouldn’t do for him to be so far removed from what I gather to be the mortal experience - just that they’re constrained, all wrapped up in one place even if it hadn’t _quite_ been my original plan, and as though he sees me come to that conclusion with his own eyes David’s leaning down over Owen, brushing the side of his face with his free hand as his other thumb circles his cock.

“Well, Owen,” he says, hand falling to his shoulder to hold him in place as his hips roll almost intolerably slow. “What do you think?”

I don’t really decide what to do next so much as Owen does, or rather Owen has already decided, has the words on deck for when they’re needed without a hint of irony or coyness. “Very - considerate, sir,” he says, and David laughs under his breath and tightens his hand on Owen’s shoulder. “But I — sir, if you would.” And without even meaning to he’s thrusting upwards into David’s hand, straining for further contact, even as it retreats before him.

For a moment I think he’s going to make him beg - his movements don’t change and his grip is solid as iron, and all he does is search Owen’s face as though he has any inkling that he might find me there. But he’s not interested in humiliating him - the thought strikes me as sudden and foreign as David’s touch is to Owen. He wants to see him, delve into him and know what’s there - which under the circumstances is rather hilarious, though somewhat dampened by the thought that he might actually manage it, if such a thing were possible. So it’s only natural for him to wait just long enough, count the seconds until Owen takes a breath to speak again - and then he has Owen’s cock firm in his grip, fingers working around the head, and presses deep into him as though he could spread the whole of him open before him.

Owen comes with a gasp this time that’s almost hoarse, so hard he nearly misses it when David follows close behind, lip in his teeth and eyes never leaving Owen’s face.

He cleans up efficiently afterwards, movements calm as though he doesn’t notice his legs shaking or David’s eyes following him or the luxuriant grin on his face, although I assure you he certainly does.

“That will be all, Owen,” David says with the tenor of a private joke. “I’ll see you in your office later to go over this morning’s meeting.”

“Very good, sir,” says Owen, just a second too slow.

***

Titania’s girl has begun to drop by with increasing frequency, though she’s calling herself Fox now, and wears her namesake on her face as though she needs a talisman to become more than mortal. Maybe she does, at that, because now she soars through the skies on grappling hooks and ingenuity, laughs with David as she levels a weapon, in a way I’d hardly have imagined from the sullen girl Owen had known in Halcyon Renard’s employ.

I wonder if David has some scheme in mind, to use her to liberate Renard from some piece of his technology, or fortune. Well, I assume he does, really I wonder what exactly it is. Owen watches his hand close over hers, and the shadow of a smile shows on his face.

Owen would never eavesdrop, of course. I merely hear his name as I walk by, and the all too human impulse to respond turns his head.

“Is there anything you needed, Mr. Xanatos?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Owen,” David says. “I was just telling Fox how I’ve valued your service since you’ve come on board. At times it seems almost supernatural.”

Owen bows. Of all the bizarre mortal reactions, his pulse picks up. And David would hardly make a joke that hackneyed on purpose, but I still watch his face as closely as Owen ever has, looking for the punchline.

***

Sevarius designs men with the strength of an ox, who once born in human bodies eat and eat until they consume themselves. Men who can run for days when any other would have dropped, whose bodies waste from disease within weeks of stillness. Even Owen’s stomach churns at the sight, though in my experience mortals have hardly needed anything this advanced to tear one another to pieces.

David grits his teeth and recreates them in steel and wire, mapping electric impulses over the places where genetics had gone wrong. Every failure a signpost on a map, directing him towards success, in whatever form he imagines that to come.

“It’s unwieldy,” he says, lifting a stack of beams with metal arms like vines strapped to his chest. “But it’ll be good for construction use, at least, not to mention a base for further modifications. I think we’re starting to get somewhere.”

“You realize the cost estimates are extraordinary, Mr. Xanatos,” Owen says, though David has no doubt had it in mind the whole time. “Not merely the manufacturing of the parts themselves, but the time required to construct the neural interface to attach as desired. Not to mention the testing—”

“It’s worth it,” David says. “We finance this for five years, it’ll have paid for itself a dozen times in ten. And it’s not just the money, Owen.”

I know that perfectly well, of course. I’ve watched David flail for months now, trying to become more than human. This has brought him as close as anything, really. Very clever puzzle, but he’s missing a few of the pieces.

I must have been Owen a bit too long. I realize, suddenly, that I wish I could see what he’d build if he had them.

***

“I think you can help me, Owen,” David says. As though he needs to make a fanfare of it. Though I suppose it has me perked up and listening, so maybe he does.

“I’m at your service, Mr. Xanatos.”

He slides Owen a photograph across the desk. A ring, one he has no way to recognize but I do. I had seen it grace Lady Titania’s finger, long ago, though any power it might have gotten from her has long since ebbed away as it’s been handed down among mortals. Such artifacts are, well, perhaps not a dime a dozen, but not so rare for _me_ to find them particularly noteworthy. The question, I suppose, is why David does.

Owen, as always, remains impassive. I think. David could tell you, his eyes fixed firm on his face.

“You’ll find this in the possession of one D. Vance, goldsmith,” he says. “Under repair for a certain lady, who it seems doesn’t want to sell. I feel it’s too lovely a piece to stay hidden away like that. And it has a history, too, though it might be an apocryphal one.” Owen’s backed into his chair in alarm, though it would hardly show. That is, to anyone except David Xanatos. Who never does anything without reasons, and whose reasons Owen knows like the back of his own hand. “I don’t suppose you could retrieve it for me? I’ve noticed you have…some skill at blending in. Perhaps that will be of some use.”

If it hadn’t been an artifact of my own people I’d have assumed he’d gone off the deep end, to be perfectly honest. If you want a thief, you hire a thief, not an exceptionally skilled personal attendant, and David _doesn’t_ want a thief, not unless there’s more to be gained then there is to be lost. And so it is that Owen, who would never assume that David has gone off the deep end, is one step ahead of me. “Mr. Xanatos,” he says slowly, rather in dread, which now that I think of it must be quite new to him. “I believe you’ll find this is quite outside my job description.”

As if he’d ever remotely bothered with that till now. “But you can do it.”

Well. Lying is a crude trick, anyway. I’d have preferred not to do it in either case, though I have to admit it would have been the most convenient option in this case. It just wouldn’t be _Owen_ , though I suppose one could argue that he was already pushing the boundaries of what could be Owen, perhaps, rather beyond their ordinary limit. You know, by agreeing to be me.

“Might I inquire what you intend to do with it, sir?” Owen asks, his evasion as good as an answer in itself.

David’s eyes glitter, and look straight at me. “I want to confirm something.”

***

I’d never meant to be Owen forever, of course. Oh, sure, it had been excellent fun, much more than I’d imagined when I’d decided to investigate Lady Titania’s foibles. But the Puck was hardly meant for a simple life of service - all right, as I said, not a _simple_ one - and the playground of Manhattan could hardly contain me forever, sized as it is by mortal ambitions.

The part of me that’s Owen can imagine it growing, enough to contain anyone or anything. Or at least, he can see what David imagines, ready to give it form.

Of course, I could give myself the best of both worlds. Abandon Owen, and offer David his own way to fall. Whatever he chose would be far too big for even him to handle, of course. That’s the way of mortals. Otherwise it’d hardly be worth the bother of granting their wishes, even if one or the other comes up with some clever way to use them. Maybe David will, at that. Privately he seems to me as likely to rise in flames as go down in them, although that might just be Owen talking.

Owen would never abandon him, of course. Owen would stay by his side as long as he existed - which is to say that he wouldn’t exist if I weren’t by David’s side. But I may as well give him that choice, as well. After all, if David dismisses him, then that will be that.

Owen rides the elevator in inhuman stillness, footsteps echoing as he walks down the hallway. David looks up as he enters the office, leans back in his chair, rather preemptive triumph glimmering on his face

Owen takes the ring from the pocket of his jacket, and I slide it onto the desk in front of him.

David raises an eyebrow, and the laugh bubbles up from me long-concealed.

“I have a deal for you.”


End file.
